Green and Brown
by HowNowWit
Summary: AU: Losing oneself can take just a moment. But finding oneself again sometimes takes patience - and a special person - to begin the long road to healing. Rizzles.


_A/N: Dear readers, This was a writing exercise to help me de-stress, more of a don't think, just write kind of thing. As such, I had no plans to continue, nor do I now, at least in the foreseeable future. At first, I hesitated to post this at all on here, because I realize some may be disgruntled with the lack of closure. That being said, I thought others might enjoy it, so it's here if you care to give it a try. If you do decide to read, I hope you enjoy. :) I certainly enjoyed writing it. ~Wit_

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Green and Brown

She finds comfort in solid things. Metal. Marble. Floors. Solid and whole, heavy in the hands. Grounded. They make her feel as though she is less likely to blow away.

Nonexistence is a terrifying thought.

Her eye twitches and she shoves that thought away along with the scraggly black curls from her face. The movement rough, quick. Efficient. Fingers pick at the ball in her hands and she loses herself in the sensation. It is an enigma. A blend of solid and soft. When she squeezes, the shape contorts, deforms. Gives under her palm and fingers. She dimly remembers a time when that used to hurt. But not anymore. She watches the shape reform, like magic, and repeats the movement. It is comforting. To have power but no pain.

Solid and soft. Those were things that belonged together.

It was all about balance. Too many solid things, especially high solid things, and it all went wrong. It meant corners and edges. It meant triangles and squares. Which meant walls. Trapped—

 _Red and sharp. Pain. Jane. Jane Pain. Lavender smiles. Helpless. Pain for Jane. You dream about me._

A hoarse screech splits the silence, startling her. Hands fly to her head, scratching, pulling, yanking. She doesn't realize the sound is coming from her own throat until large hands are securing hers behind her back.

She struggles. Body, mind. Whitewashed walls become red. No white. _Smiling red_. Words wash over her, but they are only voices. That voice. Deep, unfamiliar. Resonating in that way that raises the hairs on the back of her neck.

Her body contorts, the white lance of panic driving her to her feet, even as the men hold her down. Her back arches, bends against the suffocating restraint. For it is only _red_. And _pain_. _Jane pain wrapped in lavender smiles_.

The hands are tight, tight around her forearms. She remembers bruises, she remembers what comes next. And she will not. She WILL NOT. A strangled cry rips from her throat as she feels the strain in her spine reach its breaking point. This time she will not give. She will end it. _She_ will end.

"Stop!"

The release is sudden. Pressure and presence give way to nothing. Air. She slides down the wall and crumples into herself. She can feel her heartbeat in her temples, and in her palms.

There are more words exchanged. Different voices. One higher than the others. But colder, firmer. A strange combination. They float in and out of her consciousness as she stares through tangled black curls and tries to count the heavy pulse of life in her ears.

After 36 there is silence again, and she feels that waft of air that means she is alone. Her head nods forwards and she breathes in the scent of solitude. After a few breaths, she begins the long process of coming back to herself.

"Hello, Jane."

The voice is unfamiliar. The new one, from earlier. It echoes off the walls, snakes around her muscles and draws them tight, tighter. Her body betrayed her. It is this, more than anything, that sends panic through her veins.

She feels eyes watching and her shoulders hunch, legs curled inwards, hands cradled at the stomach. Protect the soft parts.

She closes her eyes, willing her ears to shut off so that voice will not slip inside.

Protect the soft parts.

"Jane?" The voice again. Softer. Closer.

There is a lilt about the vowel that piques her interest. Teases her ear.

"I'm sorry about that. Before. I'm not going to touch you." This is even softer.

She doesn't want to, but she finds herself listening. For this voice is different than the others. There is no command or coldness. No distance or formality. No condescension. It is just…there. Tugging lightly. Like a memory. The allure makes her cautious.

It reminds her there is one soft part she can never keep safe.

A harsh metal scrap against linoleum brings a chair closer. It settles just outside her line of sight. The distance is good. Not too close. If she tilts her chin up, she knows she'll be able to see. As it is, a pair of nondescript heels holding slender ankles settle on the floor.

"I will do nothing for which you do not expressly give me permission beforehand."

Her hands fist.

"You're safe."

She almost flinches. Perhaps her watcher notices, for she senses a pulling back. Waiting. Biding time.

A shuffling, one ankle-shoe crosses the other, and now she can smell…what is that?

Her eyes blink open and she inhales. A spice. Something soothing. Common.

"Are you more comfortable remaining where you are?" A pause, as though this person—this woman—is waiting for an answer.

It feels strange, being asked an opinion about herself. She doesn't know what to do. So she stays, doesn't move except for the shallow rise and fall of her breath.

What _is_ that?

A bigger breath. An almost remembrance. Something in bunches. Green and exotic.

"Jane."

She blinks and her head tilts against her will. Towards this woman. The movement is slight, but the woman's next words swell with warmth, as though she has received a gift.

"I don't believe I've introduced myself." She can hear the innocent smile in the up curve of words, the rosy hue. "My name is Dr. Maura Isles."

It means nothing to her, yet it draws her eyes up, up between the tangle of black curls. Inexplicable. Inevitable.

Another breath, this time savoring. Green and brown and exotic. She remembers this like the scent of rain on Sunday mornings. Fresh and cleansing. It is on the tip of her tongue, if only she would say it.

Yes. She remembers it now.

 _Eucalyptus_.

She draws her eyes up. Up to find green and brown. There's the smile she heard, and it colors the words like dye.

"Hi, Jane. I'm your new therapist."


End file.
